


I Want Your Sex

by DragonSlayer2526



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-10
Updated: 2017-08-10
Packaged: 2018-12-13 13:48:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11761209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DragonSlayer2526/pseuds/DragonSlayer2526
Summary: An apology for taking so long on writing the Meeting the Monster...a future scene between Hannibal and Clarice.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> An apology for taking so long on writing the Meeting the Monster...a future scene between Hannibal and Clarice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a future scene for both versions of the Hannibal/Clarice stories though there will be slight changes when I get to that scene.

Clarice got out of her car and opened the back door to grab her groceries, she kicked the doors shut before she walked towards the front door. She moved the bags to one arm as she unlocked the front door, moving them back to the arm that previously held them and she kicked the door shut behind her before she headed into the kitchen. Clarice placed the bags on the counter as she started to put away her groceries.

Once she was done, she headed towards the stairs as she passed the open doorway to her office she heard a familiar voice greet her.

"Hello, Agent Starling."

The woman froze when she heard the familiar voice before she slowly turned her head to see Hannibal Lecter who was sitting behind her desk, she felt her body turn towards him and step into the room. Clarice closed the door behind her and turned to face him once more but was startled to see him standing so close to her.

She didn't even hear him move.

A quick glance down showed her that he had taken off his shoes, that must have been how he was able to sneak up on the other female trainee who had came before her though Clarice would never be harmed by the Cannibal before her unlike Miriam was because of one little factor: Hannibal was in love with her and would never harm her. Oh that didn't mean he wouldn't knock her out if he needed to but he wouldn't cut off one of her limbs.

Clarice felt his hand on her chin and she allowed him to tilt her head back as he lowered his head to hers and her eyes closed as she waited for the eventual kiss.

And he didn't disappoint.

He swept inside her mouth like a conquering army, bulldozing past any tentative explorations and plundering her heated response. Clarice whimpered and sucked on his tongue, pressing herself closer against him. He went to her head like a shot of whiskey but tasted a whole lot better. He sent the same fire curling into the pit of her belly with none of the bitter acid on her tongue. Instead, he was smooth and rich and sweet like fine chocolate, and for once in her life, Clarice didn’t worry about the treat going straight to her thighs. She rather hoped he would.

Hannibal, though, seemed determined to take the long road. His hands glided over her shoulders and down her arms, raising goose bumps in their wake. Everywhere they touched, she tingled, her nerves on high alert. Her breasts pressed against his chest, molding to his hardness, and when she shifted restlessly her bare thighs rubbed against his, reminding her that she was wearing denim short shorts and a V-neck short sleeve shirt, and pushing a moan through her swollen lips.

A growl rumbled in his chest, a low, thrumming response. She felt his hands slide beneath her arms to close around her ribs, tightening as if to warn her trying to escape. As if the thought had even crossed her mind. She wanted to put less distance between them, not more. She wanted to be skin to skin. Closer if she could manage it.

The intensity of her need surprised her, but she didn’t stop to think about it. She didn’t want to waste that kind of time. For the first time in her life, she burned with desire. Clarice wasn’t normally like this; she was normally in control of her emotions.

Sure, she and Hannibal kissed numerous times in the past but it never went further then that because Clarice was afraid. Oh she wasn't afraid of him no se was afraid of what would happen to her if she took it to the next step.

Would she change or would she stay the same?

But Clarice’s hormones didn’t care. They were too busy glorying in the feel of his thick dark hair beneath her fingers, the heavy weight of his muscular body pressed against hers. They were too busy urging her to spread her legs, to wrap them around his waist and push him past the next barrier, to care about why she made this move. They just celebrated that she had.

Clarice moaned into his mouth, moaned again when those lips shifted off hers to blaze a trail along her jaw and down the side of her throat. He nibbled his way along, all but consuming her, tongue and teeth tasting every square inch of fair, heated skin. Her body quaked in his arms, and as she hooked her ankles together in the small of his back she realized her hormones had won that particular battle. She held his hips cradled against hers, the heat of his erection pressed snugly against her center.

Her eyes flew open and their gazes locked. She saw the fire of passion in his and something else, something simultaneously fierce and protective, greedy and giving. She shuddered underneath his gaze; she leaned her head back and released a puff of air. Clarice knew that she shouldn’t be doing this, he was a serial Cannibal and she was an FBI Agent tasked to bring him in.

Fingertips digging into his flesh, Clarice tightened the grip of her thighs and rocked her hips suggestively against his. Large hands slid from her hips to her butt, gripping and shifting her, pressing her heat more firmly against his. Clarice felt a moment’s astonishment that the layer of fabric between them didn’t spontaneously combust and dissolve in a cloud of ash. No such luck. The thin cloth separated them, but even through the barrier her center ached, empty and wanting. Her entire being felt empty and wanting. With any luck, he wasn’t planning to let that continue. Clarice felt the ground move. It took a minute to realize it was actually Hannibal, walking backward across the room to a large leather chair that she kept in the room. She tightened her thighs around his hips to steady herself and heard him growl in response. Curious, she repeated the motion and got the same response along with a light smack on the ass.

“Don’t tease,” He rumbled, his gaze burning into her. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Would you?” She asked, leaning forward to drag her tongue over the pulse beating visibly at the base of his throat. She felt as if some other Clarice had taken control of her body, but it was too pleasurable for her to care.

“You tell me.”

He shifted her weight into one hand and used the other to grasp one of hers. Dragging it between them, he slid it down and down and down until he wrapped her shaking fingers around the insistent ridge of his erection, pressing eagerly against her center.

Clarice trembled, not with fear but with the force of her desire. He felt enormous, hot and hard and heavy through the material. Dragging her gaze back to his, she caught her bottom lip between her teeth and managed a little shrug. “Won’t know till we try.”

Her husky taunt seemed to have roughly the same effect on him as a waving red cape had on a bull. Hannibal cursed, something low and harsh and guttural, and took two more giant steps back until the backs of his legs bumped up against the edge of the chair. Carefully he eased himself down, keeping Clarice’s hips pressed tight against him, guiding her knees to the cushions beside his legs.

She felt her breath speed up, saw her field of vision narrow until all she could see was his face, harsh and set in the light of the room. His features might have been carved roughly out of granite, all sharp planes and angles, weathered by time and experience. Now, lust had made them even more jagged, even more heavily shadowed, and Clarice lifted one hand to his cheek to reassure herself of his warmth.

Only to feel his teeth close around the plump flesh at the base of her thumb. A shiver of need wracked her, and he pulled her more snugly against him. His hands slide down her thighs, pulling her knees forward until they pressed up against the back of the chair and his cock pressed up against the very heart of her. Her eyes closed for a moment as the need threatened to overwhelm her, and she had to fight them open again.

“What now?” She asked, her voice so rough and throaty, she almost didn’t recognize it.

“Impatient?” His hands slid back up her thighs and around to cup her ass and kneading with heated intent.

A moan tumbled unbidden from her lips. “Empty.”

“Not for long.”

He leaned forward then, a dark, overwhelming presence that blocked off the light, and his lips settled once more on hers. This time, his mouth devoured, hungrier, more demanding. If such a thing were possible. She went under as if grasped by a riptide, barely registering the movement of his hands on the top of her shorts. But she couldn’t mistake the cool air on her skin as he somehow managed to get her shorts off and tossed the denim bottoms onto the floor behind her.

Gasping, Clarice pulled back and stared into his eyes, seeing nothing there but a need that mirrored her own.

She swallowed and shivered, her nibbles hardening in the cold air. Goose bumps spreading across her skin in the cold air, she wasn’t expecting him to remove her shorts so suddenly. It wasn’t because she didn’t want to sleep with him it was more because the cool air somewhat jarred her out of her lust induced pleasure. “That's an amazing talent...”

“Mmhmm.” He agreed.

He slid one finger over the bare skin of her hip, she shivered and her cheeks darkened even more with desire. She noticed that she was hot and bare and spread open across his lap like a banquet.

He looked very, very hungry.

She didn’t have time to catch her breath. Hannibal wouldn’t let her. His hand on her bottom held her firmly in place while the other slid relentlessly over the soft mound of her belly and down through the tidy nest of curls between her legs. His fingers parted them, slid lower, discovered the slick moisture that waited got him, and sank deep.

Clarice cried out, high and aching and arched reflexively into his touch. She felt, more than heard, his purr of satisfaction.

Her head fell back, her neck no longer able to support its spinning, dizzy weight. She felt him shift, felt his fingers slide deeper, parting her soft folds, seeking her center. His lips touched her throat, slid down, his tongue dragging across the hollow above her collarbone just as long one finger pierced her snug opening and thrust inside her with torturous slowness. She clamped around him like a vise, every muscle tensing at the intrusion. She heard his murmur of pleasure and squirmed, looking for an ease she couldn’t find. Her whole body felt tight and restless, empty and needing. Not a single memory of her previous lover intruded. Hannibal’s hands felt too right, too perfect over her overheated flesh.

“Tight,” He whispered against her throat. “Sweet.”

Clairce moaned and squirmed again. His finger stroked deep inside her, but she wanted him deeper, wanted it with a fierceness that shocked her.

“Please.” She gasped.

He nuzzled her throat; teeth nibbled the sensitive skin, the light teasing contact a stark contrast to the invasive intimacy of his thrusting finger.

“More?”

She could barely nod, but her muscles clenched around him in avid encouragement. A low chuckle drifted through her fog, and she felt his finger slip out of her. Her hands clenched on his shoulder in panic. He couldn’t leave her now.

“Hush,” He soothed, stroking his tongue in a hot path to her shoulder. “Have more.”

His touch returned, two fingers this time, the thickness of them stretching her opening with a heavenly, aching burn. He probed deeply, fingers curling to drag along the inner walls of her passage, and Clarice found herself thrusting back against him, struggling to take him deeper, to urge him into the possessive rhythm her body longer for.

She rocked against his fingers, high, desperate whimpers begging for more. The fabric of his pants rubbed against her inner thighs, and her tightly beaded nipples stabbed at the fabric of her bra, reminding her that she was still completely dressed on the top part of her body while she writhed, naked and aching, like a wanton in his lap.

Hannibal didn’t seem to mind. He murmured encouraging noises against her throat, his hand on her ass dragging her firmly into the thrust of his fingers. She gripped his shoulders, her nails biting into him, trying to steady herself against the raging tide of lust that threatened to overtake her.

Too late, it had already overtaken her.

“Please,” She gasped, her voice raw, reduced to begging for pleasure. “More, please.”

She didn’t know exactly what she was asking, whether it was for him to stop teasing and come inside her, whether to keep teasing until she fractured into a million tiny shards on his lap. It hardly mattered. She wanted more. She was begging for more.

“More.”

His hand shifted between her legs, two fingers sliding through the hot slickness of her desire, teasing her opening with tickling touches before returning to press against her again. This time, it was three fingers, and the pressure at her entrance stretched Clarice wide, threatening pain that didn’t quite materialize.

“Hannibal?...” Her voice shivered from her, a question, a warning.

He soothed her with the light brush of his lips against hers and pressed more firmly at her entrance, “Come, little one,” He urged, his voice dark and seductive. “Take me inside. You can do it.”

She swallowed a cry and dragged in a shaking breath. Blowing it out in a long, steady stream, she concentrated on forcing her muscles to relax and let her body ease down around his thick, probing fingers.

“That’s it,” He praised, his voice all rasping heat and growling urgency. “Good, girl.”

She felt tense and stretched and shivering on the edge of pleasure. Her nerves were on high alert, registering every shift, every slide, every nudge of his fingers inside her slick sheath. If his fingers filled her this full, she shuddered to think what it would feel like when his cock tunneled through the over sensitized flesh.

A quick hiss of breath told her Hannibal had felt every ripple of that shudder. She forced her heavy eyelids up again and found him watching her with almost frightening intensity. She shivered again and watched as he softened, felt his fingers stroked slowly and steadily inside her clinging body.

“All right?”

She managed a nod, barely.

“Good girl. Hold on.”

Before she could wonder what he meant, she felt his fingers thrust deep, high and hard inside her. He kept them there, his gaze searching her face. He must have seen what he wanted, because his gaze flared with hungry satisfaction as his free hand slid from her bottom up over her hip, under her V-neck shirt to curl around the vee of the opening, his fingers peeking out from between her breasts.

Clarice had one second to blink down at his fingers before they tightened and yanked down, pulling her body hard onto his invading touch before he pulled off the shirt.

Clarice’s scream startled her. Hannibal just looked please.

He brushed the sides of her shirt out of the way and tugged it off each arm before setting her hands back into their places on his shoulder. Certain she would drown if she loosened her grip for an instant, she clung to him as if he were a life raft. He tossed her shirt aside and looked down at the little plastic tab between her breasts that held her bra closed. The last tangible barrier between her and his devouring gaze.

“Perfect.”

With exaggerated care, so incongruous after the quick work he’d made of the rest of her clothing, Hannibal used his thumb and forefinger to flip open the tab and watched with apparent fascination as the two sides parted, peeling away from the insides of her breasts to expose soft skin.

“Perfect.” He rasped.

His fingers resumed a slow, steady thrusting between her legs, making her body feel as if it were melting into a little Clarice-flavored puddle in his lap. She whimpered uncontrollably as he leaned down and nuzzled her bra away from each breast, baring her nipples one at a time like tiny treasure hoards. He greeted each with a slow, lazy glide of his tongue that made her clench around his fingers, before he finished removing her last garment with excruciating delicacy.

Clarice figured she was about three and half seconds away from losing her mind.

She leaned forward, sobbing as the movement drove his fingers higher inside her and rested her sweat-dampened forehead against his chest. “Hannibal, please.”

For one horrible moment, she thought he was going to ignore her.

So she turned her head, she pressed one feverish cheek to his chest and closed her teeth over a smooth expanse of heavy muscle.

That seemed to do the trick.

With a smothered roar, Hannibal pulled his fingers from her body and started to remove his clothing. In the space between heartbeats, he had the clothes off and out of the way and shifted his hands to close one around Clarice’s hip, holding her steady against him. The other curled around his erection, his knuckles brushing against Clarice’s clit and making her jump.

“Don’t move.” He ordered, tense and breathless, as he set the head of his cock against her opening and began to push.

Clarice’s eyes widened and her spine tensed as she felt the width of his erection demanding entrance to her body. He felt even thicker than his fingers, hotter, smoother, and she wondered in a brief moment of panic if she had bitten off more than she could chew.

Then Hannibal shifted his grip, both hands clamped down hard on her hips and drawing her slowly, steadily, inexorably, down upon him. All Clarice could do was take a deep breath and relax.

Their eyes locked, dark on blue, both intent as he forged his way deeper.

Clarice shuddered and froze, every muscle locked against the intrusion. She wanted him inside her so badly, but she couldn’t seem to relax enough to admit him. Frustrated, she whimpered and pressed hard against him.

Hannibal’s fingers tightened on her hips. “Slowly.”

She didn’t want slow. She wanted now.

Biting into her lip to distract herself from the sharp sting between her legs, Clarice firmed her thighs against his hips and pressed herself steadily down over him.

He cursed, his fingers biting into her hips for a breathless heartbeat. She could almost see his struggle against the sensations of wet heat and tight welcome closing around him. If it was anything like Clarice was feeling, he probably couldn’t even remember his name just then.

But she could. It was engraved in flaming script on her mind and someplace else that felt suspiciously near her heart.

“Hannibal.”

She whispered it, sobbed it, as he slid deeper, deeper, mind-bendly deep until he came to rest pressing up against the very heart of her. Then she tightened her body around him and screamed it.

“Hannibal!”

If he made an answer, she didn’t hear. She leaned against him, trembling and aching, feeling the heat of him as he shifted his grip to pull her tighter against him. One hand pressed against the small of her back, guiding her hips in a sliding, rocking motion that sent him nudging over and over against a spot high inside her that made brilliant points of orange light burst and shimmer behind her eyelids.

His other hand slid up the bare, supple length of her spine, tunneling through the weight of her silky-fine hair to settle possessively over the back of her neck. He cradled her with a touch that felt distinctly like a brand, but Clarice didn’t care. She wanted him to be possessive, wanted to be possessed by him. If she could have sunk beneath his skin, she would have. She needed to be closer to him, to be part of him, the way she had begun to fear he was becoming a part of her.

She opened her mouth to cry out, but the sound caught in her throat. She lacked the breath to force it out. He drove it from her with each deep, gliding stroke.

Her muscles began to shake, pulled tight to the point of breaking. She could feel something looming over her like a tidal wave about to break. She knew it struck, the undertow would drag her to the rocks and sand, leaving her batter and bruised in the aftermath. She didn’t care.

The last vestige of her strength went to forcing her eyes open one last time. Her gaze locked with Hannibal’s, saw the same dazed acceptance in his that she knew shone in hers. Aching, writhing, keening soft and high with the need, Clarice leaned forward and spoke the only word she could remember. The only one that mattered.

“Hannibal.”

It was the crack in the dike. With a roar, he crushed her against him, his fingers digging into her flesh with bruising force. His thrusts battered at her, sending him almost painfully deep inside her, forcing out the memory of what her body felt like when it had been separate from his. She felt his possessiveness, felt it and gloried in it. Her own fingers tightened on his shoulders and she knew she would fight just as hard to hold on to him. They had become interdependent, one burning, twisting, desperate entity, unable to sustain themselves apart.

Tilting her head back, Clarice looked up into the mouth of the wave and felt her lips curve up into a smile. Let it come. She was ready.

Body arching, heart pounding, she gathered herself and threw her heart into the tide wave, knowing that when she washed ashore, she would never be the same.

It didn’t matter, because neither would Hannibal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked it!!
> 
> There'll be a second one shot in this but it'll be slightly different...you'll see ;D


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is from a new story that I had been thinking about, I won't write it yet since I want to finish the Hannibal/Clarice stories that I am working on right now.

 White covered in blood...and the screaming of children...

With a loud, almost choking gasp, Clarice Starling shot up from her bed covered in sweat that made her white tank top and pajama bottoms cling to her body like a second skin. Her breasts heaved with each breath she took as she looked around with unfocused eyes but soon they became to become clear and focus as sleep slowly loses its hold on her... More like the nightmare that had awoken her lost its hold on her. And she realized that she had been trapped in the nightmare all through the night because she can see the light of dawn slowly entering her dark room.

Damn, when will she ever sleep at night without that nightmare waking her up?

A smirk curls her lips up, not a nightmare it was a memory, a terrible one that she will never get away from. With a sigh, she flung off the blanket and sheet before she stood up and padded over to her bathroom. She flicked the bathroom light on and turned on the faucet, splashing her face with the cold water before she braced herself on the sink and looked at her reflection in the mirror.

Messy black hair and dark circles under her blue eyes, yeah her mentor will totally notice that she hadn't been sleeping again and will question it...not that she keeps anything from him but still, she was too old to be having nightmares for Pete's sake!

She needed coffee, yeah coffee will help settle her nerves.

Clarice turned off the bathroom light and walked out of her bedroom, she walked down the stairs and would have headed straight to the kitchen if the soft glow of her desk lamp that was on her desk in her office hadn't caught her eye.

She frowned as she changed directions and headed towards her office, she could have sworn that she had turned the lamp and shut the door when she had left the room. 

Just as she reached the desk, she froze when she realized that there was someone sitting behind her desk.

"Hello, Clarice."

Her eyes widen when she heard that familiar voice, a wave of fear and something else went through her. She was alone with a serial killer werewolf that everyone thought was a cannibal.

She was painfully aware that she wasn't really dressed, she wore a man's white dress shirt and black lace panties.

"What are you doing here?" Clarice asked.

Hannibal stood up and walked around the desk as he said, "I wanted to see you."

Clarice crossed her arms under her breasts as she watched the werewolf walk towards her, "Why?"

"Do I really need a reason to see my mate?" Hannibal said as he cupped her cheeks and tilted her head back as he lowered his head towards hers, she could feel his breath on her lips.

Clarice's eyes slowly closed, she couldn't find it in her to even argue about how she wasn't his mate.

She felt his thin lips against her full ones.

He swept inside her mouth like a conquering army, bulldozing past any tentative explorations and plundering her heated response. Clarice whimpered and sucked on his tongue, pressing herself closer against him. He went to her head like a shot of whiskey but tasted a whole lot better. He sent the same fire curling into the pit of her belly with none of the bitter acid on her tongue. Instead, he was smooth and rich and sweet like fine chocolate, and for once in her life, Clarice didn’t worry about the treat going straight to her thighs. She rather hoped he would.

Hannibal, though, seemed determined to take the long road. His hands glided over her shoulders and down her arms, raising goose bumps in their wake. Everywhere they touched, she tingled, her nerves on high alert. Her breasts pressed against his chest, molding to his hardness, and when she shifted restlessly her bare thighs rubbed against his, reminding her that she was wearing panties and a dress shirt, and pushing a moan through her swollen lips.

A growl rumbled in his chest, a low, thrumming response. She felt his hands slide beneath her arms to close around her ribs, tightening as if to warn her trying to escape. As if the thought had even crossed her mind. She wanted to put less distance between them, not more. She wanted to be skin to skin. Closer if she could manage it.

The intensity of her need surprised her, but she didn’t stop to think about it. She didn’t want to waste that kind of time. For the first time in her life, she burned with desire. Clarice wasn’t normally like this; she was normally in control of her emotions.

She had shared a kiss with this werewolf before, a bloody one since he had been covered by the blood of his latest victim when he had decided that Clarice was the mate he had been looking for. It had been short one since Clarice had been grossed out about it.

But Clarice’s hormones didn’t care. They were too busy glorying in the feel of his thick dark hair beneath her fingers, the heavy weight of his muscular body pressed against hers. They were too busy urging her to spread her legs, to wrap them around his waist and push him past the next barrier, to care about why she made this move. They just celebrated that she had.

Clarice moaned into his mouth, moaned again when those lips shifted off hers to blaze a trail along her jaw and down the side of her throat. He nibbled his way along, all but consuming her, tongue and teeth tasting every square inch of fair, heated skin. Her body quaked in his arms, and as she hooked her ankles together in the small of his back she realized her hormones had won that particular battle. She held his hips cradled against hers, the heat of his erection pressed snugly against her center.

Her eyes flew open and their gazes locked. She saw the fire of passion in his and something else, something simultaneously fierce and protective, greedy and giving. She shuddered underneath his gaze; she leaned her head back and released a puff of air. Clarice knew that she shouldn’t be doing this, she was a human FBI Agent and he was a werewolf that killed and ate humans.

Fingertips digging into his flesh, Clarice tightened the grip of her thighs and rocked her hips suggestively against his. Large hands slid from her hips to her butt, gripping and shifting her, pressing her heat more firmly against his. Clarice felt a moment’s astonishment that the layer of fabric between them didn’t spontaneously combust and dissolve in a cloud of ash. No such luck. The thin cloth separated them, but even through the barrier her center ached, empty and wanting. Her entire being felt empty and wanting. With any luck, he wasn’t planning to let that continue. Clarice felt the ground move. It took a minute to realize it was actually Hannibal, walking backward across the room to a large leather chair that she kept in the room. She tightened her thighs around his hips to steady herself and heard him growl in response. Curious, she repeated the motion and got the same response along with a light smack on the ass.

“Don’t tease,” He rumbled, his gaze burning into her. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Would you?” She asked, leaning forward to drag her tongue over the pulse beating visibly at the base of his throat. She felt as if some other Clarice had taken control of her body, but it was too pleasurable for her to care.

“You tell me.”

He shifted her weight into one hand and used the other to grasp one of hers. Dragging it between them, he slid it down and down and down until he wrapped her shaking fingers around the insistent ridge of his erection, pressing eagerly against her center.

Clarice trembled, not with fear but with the force of her desire. He felt enormous, hot and hard and heavy through the material. Dragging her gaze back to his, she caught her bottom lip between her teeth and managed a little shrug. “Won’t know till we try.”

Her husky taunt seemed to have roughly the same effect on him as a waving red cape had on a bull. Hannibal cursed, something low and harsh and guttural, and took two more giant steps back until the backs of his legs bumped up against the edge of the chair. Carefully he eased himself down, keeping Clarice’s hips pressed tight against him, guiding her knees to the cushions beside his legs.

She felt her breath speed up, saw her field of vision narrow until all she could see was his face, harsh and set in the light of the room. His features might have been carved roughly out of granite, all sharp planes and angles, weathered by time and experience. Now, lust had made them even more jagged, even more heavily shadowed, and Clarice lifted one hand to his cheek to reassure herself of his warmth.

Only to feel his teeth close around the plump flesh at the base of her thumb. A shiver of need wracked her, and he pulled her more snugly against him. His hands slide down her thighs, pulling her knees forward until they pressed up against the back of the chair and his cock pressed up against the very heart of her. Her eyes closed for a moment as the need threatened to overwhelm her, and she had to fight them open again.

“What now?” She asked, her voice so rough and throaty, she almost didn’t recognize it.

“Impatient?” His hands slid back up her thighs and around to cup her ass which were somewhat bared because her shirt was pushed up and kneading with heated intent.

A moan tumbled unbidden from her lips. “Empty.”

“Not for long.”

He leaned forward then, a dark, overwhelming presence that blocked off the light, and his lips settled once more on hers. This time, his mouth devoured, hungrier, more demanding. If such a thing were possible. She went under as if grasped by a riptide, barely registering the movement of his hands on the top of her panties. But she couldn’t mistake the cool air on her skin as he ripped her panties off and tossed the torn fabric onto the floor behind her.

Gasping, Clarice pulled back and stared into his eyes, seeing nothing there but a need that mirrored her own.

She swallowed and shivered, her nibbles hardening in the cold air. Goose bumps spreading across her skin in the cold air, she wasn’t expecting him to remove her panties so suddenly. It wasn’t because she didn’t want to sleep with him it was more because the cool air somewhat jarred her out of her lust induced pleasure. “I, uh, I guess that it was a good thing that I wore a one of my older pair of panties.”

“Mmhmm.” He agreed.

He slid one finger over the bare skin of her hip, she shivered and her cheeks darkened even more with desire. She noticed that she was hot and bare and spread open across his lap like a banquet.

He looked very, very hungry.

She didn’t have time to catch her breath. Hannibal wouldn’t let her. His hand on her bottom held her firmly in place while the other slid relentlessly over the soft mound of her belly and down through the tidy nest of curls between her legs. His fingers parted them, slid lower, discovered the slick moisture that waited got him, and sank deep.

Clarice cried out, high and aching and arched reflexively into his touch. She felt, more than heard, his purr of satisfaction.

Her head fell back, her neck no longer able to support its spinning, dizzy weight. She felt him shift, felt his fingers slide deeper, parting her soft folds, seeking her center. His lips touched her throat, slid down, his tongue dragging across the hollow above her collarbone just as long one finger pierced her snug opening and thrust inside her with torturous slowness. She clamped around him like a vise, every muscle tensing at the intrusion. She heard his murmur of pleasure and squirmed, looking for an ease she couldn’t find. Her whole body felt tight and restless, empty and needing. Not a single memory of her previous lover intruded. Hannibal’s hands felt too right, too perfect over her overheated flesh.

“Tight,” He whispered against her throat. “Sweet.”

Clarice moaned and squirmed again. His finger stroked deep inside her, but she wanted him deeper, wanted it with a fierceness that shocked her.

“Please.” She gasped.

He nuzzled her throat; teeth nibbled the sensitive skin, the light teasing contact a stark contrast to the invasive intimacy of his thrusting finger.

“More?”

She could barely nod, but her muscles clenched around him in avid encouragement. A low chuckle drifted through her fog, and she felt his finger slip out of her. Her hands clenched on his shoulder in panic. He couldn’t leave her now.

“Hush,” He soothed, stroking his tongue in a hot path to her shoulder. “Have more.”

His touch returned, two fingers this time, the thickness of them stretching her opening with a heavenly, aching burn. He probed deeply, fingers curling to drag along the inner walls of her passage, and Clarice found herself thrusting back against him, struggling to take him deeper, to urge him into the possessive rhythm her body longer for.

She rocked against his fingers, high, desperate whimpers begging for more. The fabric of his pants rubbed against her inner thighs, and her tightly beaded nipples stabbed at the fabric of her shirt, reminding her that she was still completely dressed on the top part of her body while she writhed, naked and aching, like a wanton in his lap.

Hannibal didn’t seem to mind. He murmured encouraging noises against her throat, his hand on her ass dragging her firmly into the thrust of his fingers. She gripped his shoulders, her nails biting into him, trying to steady herself against the raging tide of lust that threatened to overtake her.

Too late, it had already overtaken her.

“Please,” She gasped, her voice raw, reduced to begging for pleasure. “More, please.”

She didn’t know exactly what she was asking, whether it was for him to stop teasing and come inside her, whether to keep teasing until she fractured into a million tiny shards on his lap. It hardly mattered. She wanted more. She was begging for more.

“More.”

His hand shifted between her legs, two fingers sliding through the hot slickness of her desire, teasing her opening with tickling touches before returning to press against her again. This time, it was three fingers, and the pressure at her entrance stretched Clarice wide, threatening pain that didn’t quite materialize.

“Hannibal?...” Her voice shivered from her, a question, a warning.

He soothed her with the light brush of his lips against hers and pressed more firmly at her entrance, “Come, little one,” He urged, his voice dark and seductive. “Take me inside. You can do it.”

She swallowed a cry and dragged in a shaking breath. Blowing it out in a long, steady stream, she concentrated on forcing her muscles to relax and let her body ease down around his thick, probing fingers.

“That’s it,” He praised, his voice all rasping heat and growling urgency. “Good, girl.”

She felt tense and stretched and shivering on the edge of pleasure. Her nerves were on high alert, registering every shift, every slide, every nudge of his fingers inside her slick sheath. If his fingers filled her this full, she shuddered to think what it would feel like when his cock tunneled through the over sensitized flesh.

A quick hiss of breath told her Hannibal had felt every ripple of that shudder. She forced her heavy eyelids up again and found him watching her with almost frightening intensity. She shivered again and watched as he softened, felt his fingers stroked slowly and steadily inside her clinging body.

“All right?”

She managed a nod, barely.

“Good girl. Hold on.”

Before she could wonder what he meant, she felt his fingers thrust deep, high and hard inside her. He kept them there, his gaze searching her face. He must have seen what he wanted, because his gaze flared with hungry satisfaction as his free hand slid from her bottom up over her hip, under her dress shirt to curl around the vee of the opening, his fingers peeking out from between her breasts.

Clarice had one second to blink down at his fingers before they tightened and yanked down, tearing the shirt and pulling her body hard onto his invading touch.

Clarice’s scream startled her. Hannibal just looked please.

He brushed the sides of her shirt out of the way and tugged it off each arm before setting her hands back into their places on his shoulder. Certain she would drown if she loosened her grip for an instant, she clung to him as if he were a life raft.

 

“Perfect.” He rasped.

His fingers resumed a slow, steady thrusting between her legs, making her body feel as if it were melting into a little Clarice-flavored puddle in his lap. She whimpered uncontrollably as he leaned down and nuzzled each breast. He then greeted each with a slow, lazy glide of his tongue that made her clench around his fingers.

Clarice figured she was about three and half seconds away from losing her mind.

She leaned forward, sobbing as the movement drove his fingers higher inside her and rested her sweat-dampened forehead against his chest. “Hannibal, please.”

For one horrible moment, she thought he was going to ignore her.

So she turned her head, she pressed one feverish cheek to his chest and closed her teeth over a smooth expanse of heavy muscle.

That seemed to do the trick.

With a smothered roar, Hannibal pulled his fingers from her body and started to remove his clothing. In the space between heartbeats, he had the clothes off and out of the way and shifted his hands to close one around Clarice’s hip, holding her steady against him. The other curled around his erection, his knuckles brushing against Clarice’s clit and making her jump.

She dimply wondered if she could be infected through intercourse as well but she quickly shoved that thought away when she heard his voice, she'd worry about it afterwards right now she just wants to feel him inside her.

“Don’t move.” He ordered, tense and breathless, as he set the head of his cock against her opening and began to push.

Clarice’s eyes widened and her spine tensed as she felt the width of his erection demanding entrance to her body. He felt even thicker than his fingers, hotter, smoother, and she wondered in a brief moment of panic if she had bitten off more than she could chew.

Then Hannibal shifted his grip, both hands clamped down hard on her hips and drawing her slowly, steadily, inexorably, down upon him. All Clarice could do was take a deep breath and relax.

Their eyes locked, dark on blue, both intent as he forged his way deeper.

Clarice shuddered and froze, every muscle locked against the intrusion. She wanted him inside her so badly, but she couldn’t seem to relax enough to admit him. Frustrated, she whimpered and pressed hard against him.

Hannibal’s fingers tightened on her hips. “Slowly.”

She didn’t want slow. She wanted now.

Biting into her lip to distract herself from the sharp sting between her legs, Clarice firmed her thighs against his hips and pressed herself steadily down over him.

He cursed, his fingers biting into her hips for a breathless heartbeat. She could almost see his struggle against the sensations of wet heat and tight welcome closing around him. If it was anything like Clarice was feeling, he probably couldn’t even remember his name just then.

But she could. It was engraved in flaming script on her mind and someplace else that felt suspiciously near her heart.

“Hannibal.”

She whispered it, sobbed it, as he slid deeper, deeper, mind-bendly deep until he came to rest pressing up against the very heart of her. Then she tightened her body around him and screamed it.

“Hannibal!”

If he made an answer, she didn’t hear. She leaned against him, trembling and aching, feeling the heat of him as he shifted his grip to pull her tighter against him. One hand pressed against the small of her back, guiding her hips in a sliding, rocking motion that sent him nudging over and over against a spot high inside her that made brilliant points of orange light burst and shimmer behind her eyelids.

His other hand slid up the bare, supple length of her spine, tunneling through the weight of her silky-fine hair to settle possessively over the back of her neck. He cradled her with a touch that felt distinctly like a brand, but Clarice didn’t care. She wanted him to be possessive, wanted to be possessed by him. If she could have sunk beneath his skin, she would have. She needed to be closer to him, to be part of him, the way she had begun to fear he was becoming a part of her.

She opened her mouth to cry out, but the sound caught in her throat. She lacked the breath to force it out. He drove it from her with each deep, gliding stroke.

Her muscles began to shake, pulled tight to the point of breaking. She could feel something looming over her like a tidal wave about to break. She knew it struck, the undertow would drag her to the rocks and sand, leaving her batter and bruised in the aftermath. She didn’t care.

The last vestige of her strength went to forcing her eyes open one last time. Her gaze locked with Hannibal's, saw the same dazed acceptance in his that she knew shone in hers. Aching, writhing, keening soft and high with the need, Clarice leaned forward and spoke the only word she could remember. The only one that mattered.

“Hannibal.”

It was the crack in the dike. With a roar, he crushed her against him, his fingers digging into her flesh with bruising force. His thrusts battered at her, sending him almost painfully deep inside her, forcing out the memory of what her body felt like when it had been separate from his. She felt his possessiveness, felt it and gloried in it. Her own fingers tightened on his shoulders and she knew she would fight just as hard to hold on to him. They had become interdependent, one burning, twisting, desperate entity, unable to sustain themselves apart.

Tilting her head back, Clarice looked up into the mouth of the wave and felt her lips curve up into a smile. Let it come. She was ready.

Body arching, heart pounding, she gathered herself and threw her heart into the tide wave, knowing that when she washed ashore, she would never be the same.

It didn’t matter, because neither would Hannibal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So how did you like Werewolf Hannibal?

**Author's Note:**

> Did you like it? I thought you would ^^
> 
> There will be another version of this posted soonish but Hannibal will be a werewolf :D


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